


Some Nights Feel Like Every Night

by WeekendWriter



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chuck Lives, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), Pre-Slash, kitchen shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeekendWriter/pseuds/WeekendWriter
Summary: Chuck Hansen moved to the secluded countryside with Max to work on his personal growth and development following the craziness of Operation Pitfall. A few years later, a test of that personal growth shows up on his doorstep to bleed all over his living room furnature.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GutterBall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/gifts).



> After seeing this [post](http://gutterballgt.tumblr.com/post/154234435062/you-disappeared-without-a-trace-three-years-ago) the story kinda took off in my mind and I volunteered as tribute to write it. 
> 
> This one's for Gutterball, who's been feeling a little under the weather lately. Hope this helps you feel better, lovely!

Silence was something he wasn't used to. Even in the quiet of the winter, Chuck at least still had Max’s rumbling, grumbling, occasionally-stuffy snores permeating the nighttime silence. He was grateful that his best friend still occupied a permanent space in his life, though he was getting old. The bulldog’s hips worked harder than ever to support his bulk, and some days he seemed to have more of a wheeze than others, but he was alive and well enough, considering everything he’d been through.

Everything they’d both been through. 

Over three years ago, Chuck had pulled himself from Striker’s lone escape pod after the detonation of the payload. Disoriented and discombobulated, he’d been unable to catch up with the choppers sent to take Mako and Raleigh home. Tendo’s hawk-like gaze lording over all things tech in LOCCENT had been what saved him; Chuck was convinced they wouldn’t have thought to send out another group of choppers for him otherwise. 

And fuck, if it hadn’t been a hectic few days after that. He’d found that the near-death experience deep in the Pacific had put him off the wildly arrogant swagger he’d come to have and love. Maybe it was Pentecost’s loss; maybe the stunning realization that hit him as his hand reached for the detonation switch that he hadn’t accomplished enough of what he wanted to in life to be comfortable with walking into death’s beckoning arms—whatever the cause, Chuck found in the days following Operation Pitfall that he was less-than-thrilled with how much the media wanted a piece of them. Invitations to balls, parties, and parades poured into the Shatterdome. Everybody wanted to meet the heroes that saved the world and blew up the Breach.

And Chuck wanted nothing to do with it. 

Herc, occupied with his new title and responsibilities, had only stopped once to comment on his newfound maturity. ‘Glad you saw the light but didn’t walk into it, proud of you son, glad you’re not a pain in the ass anymore’, or something along those lines. Chuck was too busy just appreciating his father’s presence to really listen. Not a moment passed that he hadn’t thought of Mako, thought of what things would have been like if Herc had been the one that hadn’t returned from their mission. He certainly wouldn’t have gotten to hear praise from his father’s lips for something other than piloting for the first time in—

—years, shit. 

Which is how Chuck, without even really thinking about the implications of deciding to do so, ended up packing up what little belongings he had and moving to some small, barely-on-the-map town at the foot of the Gros Ventre Mountains, in the Western end of Wyoming. He wasn’t ditching Herc, but his father’s words reminded him of the importance of personal growth. Staying in Hong Kong wouldn’t help him with that; he needed to be on his own. Going back to Sydney definitely wasn’t an option. The US officials he spoke with had been more than understanding about pushing through the paperwork to allow him into the country, considering the whole saving-the-world thing. 

So, Chuck bought himself a house far enough from prying eyes and nosy neighbors. A quaint, one story house with charm, the real-estate agent had gushed. And of course, it came with a nice yard for Max.

And he’d found that waking every morning to the spectacular view and stunning silence of the Gros Ventre did wonders for his mood.

The odd silence of this night didn’t last. The absence of Max’s snores should have alerted him to the fact that the little bludger was awake. The sudden boofs that erupted into full-on barks had Chuck scrambling to get up and dressed. The clock on his bedside table glared back at him.

Who the fuck was out at his house at three a.m.? Max only made this kind of din when there was somebody at the door. It happened only a handful of times in his years there, given his proximity to his neighbors. Or lack thereof. 

Chuck stumbled over Max’s toys in the hallway and bit out a few colorful curses, mostly aimed at whoever was fucking up his sleep on a weekend, and finally wrenched the door handle. 

“Oi, whatever the fuck you think you’re selling this early, I’m not—” Forget being impolite, Chuck stared. And stared. 

Raleigh Becket was standing on his doorstep. 

At three in the morning.

After he hadn’t been seen by anyone for years. 

“Hey, Chuck.” The same charming, crooked smile peaked at him from within an impressive amount of facial hair. 

“Fuck’s sake, Becket, what the hell happened to your hair?”

Raleigh’s smile turned more pained than anything; Chuck assumed it was aimed at his piss-poor, ‘I’m up at ass-o’clock’ attitude, until the blonde used his left arm to support his right. Fuck, he hadn’t seen that much blood since – And as the light from inside hit Raleigh’s face, Chuck noticed for the first time how pale the guy was. 

“Fuck, Ray, that’s a lot of—” Chuck broke off and lunged as Raleigh pitched forward. His bulk slammed into Chuck’s front, and Chuck huffed at the effort of holding the bloke up. “That’s—alright, mate, guess we’re going in—brilliant, sure, make yourself at home.” 

He released his grip when Raleigh was laying face-up on the couch. The offending arm dangled downward, subjected to Max’s careful, sniffling scrutiny. He’d been planning on replacing the living room rug; the blood pooling on the floor was a compelling argument for sooner rather than later. 

Of course, Raleigh Fucking Becket would be the one to drop in and inconvenience him like this. Chuck went for his first-aid box and set about wrestling the guy from his over-sized leather jacket. The gash, running down the length of his arm, was going to need stitches to stop the bleeding. Good thing Herc had taught him how, and their time in the PPDC had given him plenty of opportunity to practice when they hadn’t had time to stop in at medical. 

Although, it wasn’t completely fair to say that it would be Becket doing this to him. Chuck wasn’t sure what the guy was like anymore. A few days after Pitfall, not long before Chuck himself had taken his leave of absence for the countryside, Raleigh had just disappeared. One second, the bloke was preparing for an interview with Mako – everybody was dying to get an interview with the best jaeger piloting team in the world – and the next, she was returning to the Shatterdome by herself, a pensive look on her delicate features but with no indication as to where her partner had gotten to. 

He’d ducked out during their prep questions and never came back in. 

Chuck alternated between looping the needle cleanly through the edge of the wound and wiping the rapidly-drying blood from the area around. That had been the last time anybody had seen Raleigh Becket. The media hadn’t caught his photo, nobody in the rapidly-disintegrating Shatterdome family had heard from him; not even Mako knew any intimate details about where he had been or what he had been doing for years. 

After a few weeks of silence, Chuck made it a point to regularly check in with her, and with Herc, of course. His old man made visits at least once a year, and Mako herself had come for a visit last year when she finally took a break from her hectic new life as Herc’s second in command. The paperwork alone kept the two of them plenty busy, although the visits had been nice. 

But Raleigh had just disappeared, as much of a ghost as his brother. 

Until tonight. 

Chuck tied off the end of his stitching, proud that his work was neat as ever, and did his best to tidy up the crime scene that was now his living room. Max trotted close to his feet, enjoying whatever this new game was, smiling up whenever Chuck looked down. He frowned at the ridiculous beast; it was still too damn early. He tossed the soiled towels into the sink and felt the blonde’s forehead. Not feverish, thankfully. He’d lost a lot of blood, but Chuck was sure sleeping it off would do wonders. 

For him, too. With a last look at what was probably going to be the source of a headache tomorrow, Chuck shuffled back into his room and collapsed back into bed. 

 

 

The last thing Chuck expected when he awoke was to have more of a rude-awakening than he’d had from his three a.m. caller. But Murphey’s Law must be alive and well and listening with intent. Chuck sprang out of bed, years of alertness at the kaiju alarm tearing his conscious awake before he’d even opened his eyes. The offending noise, the scattering of Max’s claws against the hardwood floors, drew panic to the surface until he realized the noise was just a single beep echoing throughout his house. 

The goddamn fire detector. 

Chuck groaned and rubbed at his face. No, he hadn’t expected this to be easy. He also hadn’t expected this much disruption. 

When it came to Beckets, though, he should have guessed. 

He slumped into the living room, too-long legs of his pajama pants brushing the ground as he went. The fire detector came unscrewed from the ceiling easily, and Chuck glared at it with murderous intent. Max skittered ahead and _awooed_ his approval at whatever was happening in the kitchen. A muffled chuckle met his ears. Chuck abandoned the plastic device in favor of finding out exactly what said approval was for. 

The windows were all wide open, despite the crisp, cool winter air flooding in; air that was taking the place of smoke, he realized. Raleigh was at the stove, wearing nothing more than jeans and a sheepish expression. Chuck gaped at the burned smell, the smoky air, and the miles of tanned muscle currently occupying his kitchen.

Raleigh gave him a grin that was more amusement than guilt. “Sorry. Yance was more of a cook than I was. Figured I at least owed you breakfast for dropping in so suddenly last night.”

“At this rate, you’re gonna owe me an entire new house, mate.” Chuck crossed his arms and inspected the damage over Raleigh’s shoulder. “How the fuck does anybody burn eggs?” He shouldered the guy out of the way, taking care to avoid touching more than he should as he did so. Just because the urge was there to touch just about all that smooth-moving muscle didn’t mean the action would be appreciated. 

Unoffended, Raleigh took a step back and raised his hands in a submissive gesture (and fuck, if thinking about the bloke being _submissive_ didn’t do things to him). “Since when does Charlie know how to cook?”

It was surprising how easily the old anger stayed below the surface despite the nickname. “Fuck off, Ray.” The phrase didn’t carry nearly the same amount of venom now. Chuck quickly rinsed the pan and set about making eggs the proper way, noticing but refusing to acknowledge how Raleigh’s brow quirked at the lack of a witty response. He shoved a bag of bread at the gawking wanker. “Think you can manage toast?”

Without responding, Raleigh set about plopping a few slices into the toaster. Max tangled himself between the blonde’s legs, tossing his smile between the two as they worked. 

The whole scene was… horribly domestic.

Chuck expected that Raleigh would have taken off early this morning, long before he was awake. Just a quick patch-up before he’d be on his way. But clearly, that wasn’t the case. What else did the bloke want, then? He shot a cursory glance again at the golden skin over his shoulder. 

Whatever Raleigh had been doing for the past few years had kept up his jaeger-produced physique. Some of the newer scars from Pitfall had faded, but the prominent ones remained. Watching Raleigh move about the kitchen with ease and grace, and the lack of the usual lumpy sweater—there was something different about the bloke. Raleigh scratched absentmindedly at his stitching, watching the toast intently to avoid another smoke-filled mishap. 

The scrunched nose was…kind of adorable, Chuck had to admit. 

He plated the eggs and poured himself some of the coffee Raleigh had managed to make as his guest swung around. Golden-brown toast, perfectly timed, it looked like. Chuck grunted as Raleigh lowered himself into the chair across from him. 

“You always eat brekkie half-naked?”

Raleigh snorted and gestured half-assedly toward the living room. “Kinda had some issues with my only shirt.” A mischievous glint flickered in those baby blues. “Why, this bother you, kid?”

In another life, he would have blustered out some shitty excuse for denial without thinking. Another life, that’s how long the time before Pitfall seemed to be from now. Chuck took his time stirring just a hint of sugar into his coffee before replying, “No. Figured you’d be more comfortable, is all.”

Those blue eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, yeah, I guess. That’d be great?”

Chuck nodded slowly and headed for his bedroom. Max, unsurprisingly, stayed under the table, and he smiled when sounds of the little blighter’s slobbering bites came from the kitchen. When he re-emerged, shirt in hand, Raleigh was glancing anywhere but at his feet, where the furry fat bastard was waiting for more scraps. Max was far less inconspicuous; toast crumbs were readily falling from his tongue onto the floor as he smiled at Chuck.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me.” Raleigh unfolded the grey fabric as though it had personally offended him. “You didn’t burn these fucking things? After all this time?”

“Didn’t really cross my mind.” True enough, Chuck had almost forgotten that those PPDC-issue shirts were at the back of his wardrobe. The winters required considerably more clothing, and he spent most of the summer either out by lakes or in the higher altitudes of the Gros Ventre. Stock grey t-shirts didn’t really cut it. He grunted and took a bite of his eggs. “Least I got more than one shirt.”

Raleigh’s nose crinkled as he tugged the shirt over his head. It was a bit looser on him than on Chuck. “Yeah, well, when I left yesterday morning I hadn’t planned on needing more than one shirt.”

“Left where?” Chuck kept his voice conversational, but the blonde’s eyes still narrowed slightly. He busied himself with his own plate instead of answering, letting the silence stretch long enough that Chuck felt some of the old impatience rising to the surface. “Fuck’s sake, Ray, nobody’s even seen or heard from you in three years. Give me something here.”

Another snort. “Right, since you’ve been so friendly with the rest of the world.”

“Still check in with my drift partner, at least.”

The fork clattered to the plate as Raleigh’s hand twitched. Yeah, it was a low blow, but Chuck figured he deserved _something_ from the guy that had randomly shown up to bleed all over his living room furniture. 

Didn’t make the hurt reflected in Raleigh’s eyes any less painful to see.

“That’s…” Raleigh trailed off and ran a hand through his much-longer hair. Something in him suddenly clicked; he dropped his hands dejectedly and said, “I tried to find my sister.”

 _Oh_.

The elusive third Becket. He’d heard stories from those that piloted with the brothers, but he never got any real information on the girl. Whether they were still in contact with her had also remained a mystery, but from the way ‘tried’ had stuck in his throat worse than the dry toast invited no question from Chuck. He chewed thoughtfully and watched as Raleigh waited for him to respond.

Now that Chuck looked closer, Raleigh didn’t look in the best shape. Other than the obvious stitching, he could count several new non-drivesuit related scars from injury on the blonde’s arms. There was, somehow, an even more haunted look about the blue eyes, a few more lines around them. The handsome features remained despite the general leanness; somehow, the guy seemed skinnier than when living off the Wall’s rations, despite keeping much of his muscle. Hair could definitely use a wash. 

And a trim, obviously. It was a goddamn monstrosity. 

Chuck munched pensively on his toast, stopping only to toss a bit of crust down to Max (even though the little bugger had clearly been tossed a few scraps already). So if his search hadn’t been successful, what had Raleigh been doing in the meantime? How long had said search taken?

Whatever the bloke was up to clearly hadn’t been treating him well, if the gash and scars were any indication. 

He hmphed at the ensuing silence. “Got plans to go back to whatever shithole you got that gash from?”

The corner of Raleigh’s lips twitched. A good sign that his anger was defusing, Chuck guessed. Raleigh’s brow raised as he asked, “What makes you think it was a shithole?”

“I repeat: gash.” Chuck paused long enough to allow Raleigh time to make a face indicating defeat, and then ploughed through any excuses he might have come up with. “Could use your help with that couch now that you’ve finished bleeding all over it. Was planning on redecorating anyway, and I’m not gonna be able to lift it outta here by myself, mate.”

Raleigh’s brow couldn’t possibly raise higher if he tried. Chuck paused in thought. The juxtaposition of the last time they’d come this close in contact, the fight filled with spitting and yelling and insults compared to now, was stunning. Years ago, Chuck wouldn’t have guessed the two of them to be able to be this silent and thoughtful with each other. Well, he wouldn’t have thought it possible from himself. Without provoking from him, Raleigh had largely been quiet during their time at the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

Huh. Guess taking time for personal growth had been worth it. 

Shit, Herc was never going to let him hear the bloody end of that.

“Well, I might have to get doctor’s permission first to do any heavy lifting, what with the stiches and all.” The mischievous glint returned to those blue eyes. 

Chuck rolled his own in response. “Fucking wanker.”

Max sniffled and curled up atop both of their feet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of IKEA shopping with a sweet-tooth-owning Becket who has no idea what boundaries are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters are coming along as contributing to the overall story while also remaining oddly stand-alone, so I'll post as I go. A lot of the overall story is fleshed-out and complete, but I want to change and edit some things. Hopefully the rest of it won't take as long to post. I hope you all enjoy!

Chuck took his time with his food and noted that Raleigh practically inhaled the buffet in front of them. The years on the wall couldn’t be the cause of this; it’d been far too long since the bloke would have needed to worry about food what with the PPDC pension.

Unless the guy had already spent or denied his pension or was saving it and had relied on something else less plentiful to feed himself. 

Whatever the case, Raleigh inhaled his food in record time and turned to place his dishes in the sink as though they rightfully belonged there before he lounged back in the kitchen chair. A cock of Chuck’s brow had the blonde back up and washing his dishes in with a guilty grin. Max shot an offended glance at the bloke at the loss of half of his head rest. 

“Sorry,” Raleigh blustered as he busied himself with the soapy sponge in one hand and the soiled dish in the other. 

Dishes in the sink didn’t bother Chuck but they did make him wonder; where had the guy been that had turned him into this? Chuck wasn’t a betting man but he’d place a bet on Raleigh being more clean than him, at least the Raleigh he knew before Pitfall. The now-Raleigh washed his dishes haphazardly before glancing at Chuck’s still half-full plate. 

Chuck waved his fork in what he hoped was a casual manner. He wasn’t done and he wasn’t in any hurry to be done. If the deals on living room furniture at the local warehouse held, that was. 

Raleigh collected himself and sat back at the kitchen table, pausing to scratch Max’s slobbering jowls as he did so. Chuck was still scrutinizing the movements – a fact not lost on the bloke if the equally-narrowed brow in his direction was any indication. 

“So, what have you been up to since isolating yourself here for however many damn years?” Raleigh’s tone was casual but there was a certain tenseness with which he stroked Max’s back. 

“What have you been up to since you left the PPDC with no word and showed up on my doorstep with an injury that looks like it came from one of Slattern’s tails?” Chuck patiently chewed his eggs and waited for Raleigh’s reaction; surprise, tinged with a bit of pain, as he’d expected. Chuck finished his last forkful and placed his plate in the sink. “Come on. We’ve got couches to look at, mate.”

If there was anything he’d learned about guys like him and Raleigh (much as he didn’t want to admit the fact that they were indeed similar) it was that outright asking wouldn’t get either of them to say shit. Whatever information he was going to get about Raleigh’s checkered past would have to be carefully weaseled out and hoarded like information leading to a precious treasure. Which it would be. Whatever he could learn about Raleigh’s past few years would tell him about who Raleigh was now. 

And now-Raleigh seemed to be quite a different person than the one he remembered from the Hong Kong Shatterdome based on that fucking injury alone.

Chuck stuffed Max into his living room kennel with the usual complaints and snuffles and headed out to his Jeep. Raleigh, predictably, followed with the same abandoned-puppy air from before. Apparently, some things didn’t change. The blonde at least settled into the passenger’s side with ease. Chuck started the engine and snuck a sidelong glance at his companion. Raleigh seemed considerably less uneasy in the vehicle than he did on solid ground. 

Taking that into consideration, Chuck took the back roads. The ride to the furniture store was a quiet and uneventful one compared to the rest of the morning. Raleigh’s gaze never faltered from the mountains and Chuck couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride for where he lived. 

“IKEA?” Raleigh mused as the Jeep ground to a stop.

Chuck grunted. “Putting things together calms me down, mate.”

“God knows you need that.”

He ignored the jibe and stepped out of the vehicle. So IKEA was his guilty pleasure, sue him. Even with the mountains to improve his mood there were few things he took honest-to-God pleasure in and building furniture was one of them. Not to mention the fact that building it himself kept the cost down in case he needed to replace furniture that some blonde seppo bled all over.

Not that said scenario happened often. But so far it happened often enough for him to be glad that he saved money on the furniture before. 

“We’re getting some goddamn cinnamon rolls. I don’t care what your newfangled, post-war, mountain diet says,” Raleigh said the second they crossed the threshold. 

Chuck snorted again; like a diet would keep him from the magic that was IKEA’s cinnamon rolls. He placed a twelve-pack in the cart to start with before he swerved toward the living room section.

Predictably, the untrained blonde seppo broke into the cinnamon rolls before they even reached the second aisle. After profusely apologizing to and convincing a security guard that yes, they were planning on paying for those consumed rolls, Chuck pursed his lips at the blonde roaming the aisles ahead of him. Years ago, he would have painted the remaining original Gipsy pilot as the picture of tranquility and righteousness. Something had to have changed in the guy to have him go from that to scarfing down half a pack of sweets in the middle of a Swedish furniture store. 

Chuck let the behavior continue until they reached the first aisle of couches. He was centering on a neutral light-gray couch that would look good with the color of the living room when he turned to Raleigh – who was in the middle of scarfing down his third cinnamon roll. “Oi. Think you can stop stuffing your ugly mug for two seconds to help?”

Raleigh replied with his best grin – which was an open-mouthed presentation of half-chewed pastry. 

“You’re a fucking child.”

Said childish seppo swallowed down the mouthful and replied, “You wanted my help today.”

“Exactly. _Help_. Jesus, I never thought I’d see the day you’d be a bigger arse than I am.”

“I’ve always had a bigger arse than you. Oh, be a bigger one? My bad.”

Chuck rolled his eyes and gripped one end of the box. Thankfully, the bloke finally got with the program and helped him slide the thing onto the flat-bed portion of the cart. The flex of Raleigh’s still drool-worthy biceps was distracting but not anywhere near as distracting as the bloke’s attitude. With a vice-like grip on Raleigh’s shoulder, he managed to steer the guy back to the front of the store without any more incident. Raleigh evne helped stuff the item into the back of the Jeep without needing any more prompting. 

As he started the car, Chuck was dimly aware of Raleigh staring at him out of the corner of his blue eyes. “What?” he eventually broke down and asked when that bright gaze hadn’t moved miles later. 

“I can’t figure it out,” Raleigh mused. He stroked long fingers through the mess of facial hair that Chuck wanted desperately to shave. “You seem to have more and yet less of a stick up your ass than you did before. It’s incredible. I can’t decide whether I should alert the local news or not.”

“What’s incredible is that whoever you’ve been living with thinks it’s okay to let you out of the house looking like that.”

“I know. My clothing designer is terrible,” the blonde shot back with a grin down at the PPDC gray stretched across his chest. 

Which was, of course, the opportunity Chuck was looking for. “We can swing by your place and pick up your clothes if you’d like.”

The look Chuck had been expecting flashed across Raleigh’s face. It was a mix of embarrassment, discomfort, and – if he wasn’t mistaken – disgust. 

Interesting.

But instead of denying the offer Raleigh’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Sure. Long as you don’t mind driving two hours from here with a couch sticking out of the back of your fuckin’ Jeep.”

“You’ve been–” Chuck gripped the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure why but the thought of the bloke being so close, probably in the same state from the sound of it, for the past however long without looking him up pissed him off. Sure, Raleigh clearly trusted him enough to come to him while injured, but it would have been nice to see a friendly (okay not exactly friendly, but familiar) face once in the past few years. 

Both of Raleigh’s brows shot up. “What?”

“Nothing.” Aware that the white of his knuckles on the steering wheel might paint a different picture than ‘nothing’, Chuck forced himself to relax and instead dangled one arm out the window. 

The rest of the drive passed in silence until the grunts and huffs that accompanied carrying the couch inside bounced off the living room walls. Chuck let Max out to potty and rewarded him with a few scritches; he felt bad for putting the little bastard back in the kennel, but he had essentially promised the rest of his afternoon to bringing Raleigh to wherever his stuff was. Chuck straightened from the kennel and grabbed an apple from the counter before locking the house up after them. 

“So. Am I gonna get a more specific set of directions other than just ‘two hours from here’?”

Those blue eyes widened again. “Yeah. Hop out to the main road and follow it to the interstate.” He fell silent as Chuck fiddled with the radio but it didn’t last long. “Chuck what’s – Are you actually offended by that ‘stick up your ass’ comment?”

Chuck kept him waiting in favor of sinking his teeth into the apple. They were even better in season around here. “No, Ray.” He gave the bloke his answer but left it at that.

The bastard’s lips curved upward again. “You know, you only call me Ray when you’re trying to start some shit. So what’s the shit?”

 _You_ , Chuck wanted to say, but he knew better than to provoke the only other passenger he’d have for the next four hours. He settled for whipping the Jeep onto the highway and sighing into the open window next to him.

When Chuck turned his head a while later, those stupidly pretty blue eyes were much closer to his own. Chuck started and hurried to correct the wheel. “For fuck’s sake, Becket, what?!”

This time, Raleigh paused for a considerable time. Chuck was sure those too-close eyes were still observing him, though their owner waited until they’d passed several important highway signs before he said, “You really haven’t been around anyone the past few years, have you?”

Chuck started; he couldn’t help it. That was very far from what he’d been expecting to be asked. He ran his hands over the steering wheel; he’d have to give Raleigh something. “No. I haven’t. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Raleigh pursed his lips. “Like you keep saying, nothing. Just… never expected that’d be your outcome after Pitfall.”

The snort escaped before Chuck gave it permission. “Not like there was a lot left to stay for.”

Whatever snappy response the bloke was cooking up gave way to more directions instead. “Turn off here.”

“Whatever you say, mate.”

The interstate exit turned into a smaller divided highway, which eventually became a dirt road while skipping the regular street. Not exactly the jump Chuck was expecting, but judging on the rural nature of the area Chuck really shouldn’t be surprised. Thank God for the Jeep. Raleigh kept up tight-lipped silence for the rest of the drive, a drive that Chuck realized was passing by far too quickly. 

At the end of the line (literally, the road just dropped off into nothing) sat a rather decrepit looking house. Chuck threw the Jeep into park and glanced around in concern. “This… the place, mate?”

“Nah we’re just stopping for shits and giggles.”

“Shoulda told me, I woulda brought you some toilet paper.”

There it was; Raleigh’s stoic expression cracked as he let out an involuntary snort of amusement. Chuck himself smiled until he glanced at the house again. His own place seemed like a castle in comparison; the shack, as it should really be called, had several holes in the roof and was lacking a proper paint job. It could be something if only someone paid it the attention it deserved. 

Right damn shame. 

He followed as Raleigh picked his way around the rocks and debris (was that a support beam?) in the front yard and kicked in the already-damaged front door.

Chuck realized with a sinking feeling that the damage to the front panels of the house could only be bullet holes. He’d been out shooting with his father enough to recognize a .44 round in a 2x4. Chuck stepped carefully around the splintered remains of the door and glanced around for that familiar mop of blonde.

Raleigh was standing in the middle of the wreckage. There really wasn’t another word for the overturned couch, the shards of glass glinting on the floor in the late afternoon light, the scraps of paper dancing on the floor. Something happened here, something very dangerous for whoever was involved. It took Chuck’s mind way too long to supply him with the fact that _this_ had to be what caused the seppo to end up bleeding on his couch. 

“Raleigh, what the fuck—”

But the blonde ignored him in favor of leafing through the scraps of paper. He frowned in disgust and turned his attention to the other room. The house, much like his own, had only one story, but Chuck was surprised that the other room could contain anything given the house’s small size. There was nothing left to suggest that this was a home but everything to suggest that the bloke he was stuck with now owned little to his name.

Now Chuck was really curious as to what the guy did with his PPDC money.

“Raleigh?” Chuck wandered forward and entered the room slowly. Slowly, because it looked as though he was intruding on some sort of moment, Chuck crossed into the house’s only bedroom. Raleigh was kneeling on the floor; any other time, Chuck would have thought the guy should be worried about the broken glass he was probably getting on his pants, but given the whole bloody-thing last night…

Raleigh was crouched on the ground over a duffel that had been crudely shoved under the short wooden frame of a bed, the only furniture in the room. The duffel was open and Chuck wondered for a moment whether Raleigh was lamenting the loss of an important item when he noticed the bloke breathing in what looked like an old sweater. 

A very _familiar_ old sweater.

“Is that—?”

The blonde started and turned to face him with a sheepish expression. It looked out of place compared to the standoffish nature Raleigh had held previously. “It’s _Yancy’s _.” He spoke with almost reverence, as if that was the only explanation necessary for why he was cradling a sweater, of all things, in the aftermath of what was probably the crime scene of a drive-by.__

__Chuck suddenly felt his skin crawling. “Mate, we should…”_ _

__Raleigh finally stood and grabbed up the duffel, the only remaining un-damaged piece of the house. “Yeah, let’s…” He followed after Chuck and clutched the bag in a way that made Chuck all the more glad that they decided to stop by this place._ _

__He offered the back seat of the Jeep but Raleigh steadfastly insisted on keeping the duffel firmly seated in his lap._ _

__Silence reigned until they reached Chuck’s home which was only broken by Max’s enthusiastic, if somewhat guilt-induced, barks upon their arrival. Raleigh only relaxed his tense shoulders when the duffel had been placed safely in Chuck’s room._ _

__Chuck soon found himself frustrated and tearing through the pages of the instructions of his new couch while Raleigh positively _cooed_ at the neglected Max. After about a half an hour, he tossed the pages to the wood floor._ _

__Fuck. He’d forgotten to pick up a new rug._ _

__Raleigh threw a grin his way and tugged on the rope in Max’s strong jaws. “Want some help?”_ _

__Chuck crossed his arms and mumbled in the guy’s direction._ _

__To his surprise, the wanker picked up the pages in his other hand and began reading the instructions out loud._ _

__“For fuck’s sake, you speak French?! I’ve been looking at these goddamn instructions for a half hour!” But that crooked grin was all Chuck got in response. He rubbed a hand over his face. _You piloted in the same drop, you have to be nice_. So, he dropped the issue and set fixing slot A with slot B as Raleigh read on with that grin plastered firmly across that stupidly handsome face. _ _

__When the project was finally complete, Chuck sprawled over the surprisingly comfy cushions. A good investment, so long as no more wankers came along and bled all over it. He spared a glance at said bleeder and watched as the guy scooted close enough to lean against the couch edge by him._ _

__“Well, at least you’ve got somewhere to sleep.” Chuck finally broke the silence._ _

__Raleigh turned his head in surprise. “You want me to stay?”_ _

__Chuck thought back to the house from earlier (if you could call it that) and frowned. “Like you’ve got somewhere else to be?” He realized almost immediately that the question implied far more than it meant to. He’d already taken a swipe at Raleigh for not keeping in contact with his drift partner, he’d watched the guy practically cry over his dead brother’s goddamn sweater, and now had effectively reminded the guy that he now had nowhere to live. Chuck fought past the rising awkwardness and placed his hand softly on Raleigh’s shoulder. “Your instincts were right before, mate. You’re always welcome here. Of course I want you to stay.”_ _

__It was apparently the right thing to say. Chuck could feel the body on the floor below him lean closer to the touch and wondered briefly whether he was the only one who’d spent a lot of time alone the past few years._ _

__Though the house from earlier seemed to indicate otherwise._ _

__“Yeah, I could stay.” Raleigh paused, and then the jerk added, “Somebody’s gotta take care of Max, after all.”_ _

__Chuck adjusted his grip to the bloke’s forehead and snapped playfully, “Watch it. Or I’ll make you come back shopping for the rug we forgot.”_ _

__Raleigh whipped around once again, those blue eyes alight with mischief. “More cinnamon rolls?!”_ _

__“Fine, you ass.”_ _


End file.
